The Siren’s Love

She sings ever so softly
Some might call her a monster,
But she knows only love
In it’s deepest forms,
She does not wish to cause pain
To confuse
It is to love that she does obey
And she sees her love from a distance
So close,
And yet…
So she sings because she knows
This he will hear,
This may make his heart swoon,
Despite the odds that keep
Them at a distance,

The others could never understand
The feelings that a bare song evokes,
The way it makes his heart flutter up into his throat,
And this is what it’s meant to do,
Make the one you love
Too love you

But she wants love not against his wishes,
She wants his love
But not by trickery,
She wants him to fall in love
With the siren
For the very beauty
Of her, and her song

Old Pages and Curiosity

The usual spots,
We find solace in their depths,
Mine? The library;
In the smell of old pages,
There is knowledge kept in here,

Waiting to be found,
To be known by hungry minds,
Here I am starving,
There is knowing to be known,
So leads curiosity

“Artist” by Name

I am an artist
Of various mediums,
I stake my claim.
Long denied myself the title,
Without profession or degree,
But artist needs no authority,
I just am,
And so I will be,
I will write with paint,
And pen my portraiture,
I am an artist,
It is the creative force alone
That controls me,
Where it sends me,
I am yet to know,
There muses sing,
My hands work feverishly,
Between word and visual art,
The paper is my stage,
And this art is my ballet.